Soulmarked (The Fatemarked Epic Book 3)

by David Estes

  Falcon didn’t know who this Teran slave man was, only that he looked familiar.

  And that the slave wanted him dead, the proof in the fierce red rings around his neck.

  It also seemed that Shanti knew this man, and was trying to get him to leave before the guards arrived. But he was refusing, locked in place with a determined stare.

  The guards burst into the room, their whips raised over their shoulders, ready to be used. Several women screamed, and, as a group, they dropped to the floor, leaving only Falcon, Shanti, and the bloodthirsty slave man standing.

  “Emperor?” one of the guards said. “We heard noises. We came as fast as we could. Thank the gods you are—” His words dropped like a stone as he noticed Falcon’s bruised jaw and neck. The other guard seemed to notice at the same instant, both of their bodies stiffening. “What did they do to you?” His words were full of accusation, and Falcon knew exactly what would happen next if he stood idle.

  Shanti and the man would be bloodied and taken away, tried on the morrow for their crimes. Both would be executed. “Nothing,” he said, forcing himself to laugh. “I’m very sorry to have concerned you. I merely tripped in the dark. Badly, it seems. I hit my head. My clumsiness startled the women and a few screamed. This man came running”—he gestured to the slave, who was staring at him with a dumbfounded look on his face—“and leapt atop me. He thought an intruder was here to violate the women.”

  “He tried to kill you?” one of the guards said, taking a step forward, his whip cocked.

  Falcon held out his hands placatingly. “It was very dark. Once he realized who I was, he released me. It was all a misunderstanding. I feel a fool.” Again, he tried to laugh it off.

  “A misunderstanding?” the guard said, his eyes narrowing.

  “Yes. Back to your posts. Thank you for your service.”

  The guards didn’t look convinced, but they wouldn’t refuse a direct command from their emperor. Shaking their heads, they departed.

  Shanti said, “We would have been killed. Unless…”

  With that, she stepped over to the man, placed a hand on his shoulder, and steered him toward the open door back to his quarters. He limped a little, but didn’t argue. Before he closed the door, he cast a glance back, his eyes darting between Shanti and Falcon. There is something there, Falcon thought. Something between him and Shanti.

  Shanti said, “You should return to your quarters, Emperor. It is late.”

  He considered asking her to return with him again, but thought better of it. He’d already caused too much trouble. And, despite the story he’d concocted, rumors would spread across the palace like a dust storm.

  He nodded, casting his eyes over the room, across the dozens of women who were staring at him in fear. “I am sorry to have awakened you all. Please, be at peace and rest.”

  With that, he left, his jaw throbbing and the skin of his neck on fire.

  Eighty-Eight

  The Southern Empire, Phanes

  Jai Jiroux

  Jai was tempted to sneak back into the women’s quarters and speak to Shanti. Fraternizing amongst the slaves wasn’t forbidden—after all, it was necessary to make more slaves. In the end, however, he decided against it. Shanti had made it clear she didn’t need his help. Whatever she was planning with Emperor Hoza didn’t involve his hands around the man’s neck. She was willing to risk Jai’s own neck, a thought that brought blood to his face. He wasn’t angry at her, just disappointed. And embarrassed. Whatever he’d thought they had between them was clearly not there.

  As he lay awake, thinking, he felt lost and alone, a ship with no sails or oars or crew. His entire life had been driven by a desire to enact change, to help the Phanecian slaves. His mother’s people. My people, he reminded himself.

  What had changed? he asked himself. There were still slaves. There were still emperors and masters and mines. And he was still in a position to do something, as precarious as it was.

  In fact, it was possible he was the only one who could do something, considering the justicemark he bore.

  He forced all thoughts of Shanti from his mind. I will do something, one way or another.

  The next chance he had, he wouldn’t hesitate to kill Falcon Hoza, even if he had to go through Shanti to do so.

  Eighty-Nine

  The Southern Empire, Calypso

  Roan Loren

  Raven had explained to Roan that he would be included in the war council as her guest, and as an advisor on all things related to the Ferrian defenses. That was all. He’d agreed with his words, if not with his mind.

  The last two days had been a blur. Saying goodbye to Windy and Yela had been bittersweet. He barely knew them, and yet felt like they were allies, swiftly on their way to becoming friends. He promised to return as soon as he could.

  Then there had been the ride on dragonback, a harrying, thrilling experience that left him appreciating every second he spent back on the ground. He’d ridden behind Rider, while Goggin had traveled with the dark-eyed man called Shanolin. Their guanik would be driven back across the dustlands by the most experienced handlers they could find in Citadel. The speed of their trip back to Calypso had felt supernatural after the long road he’d ridden with Goggin.

  Now, the war council was gathering. Shanolin and Rider. Goggin. The shiva, who was engaged in quiet conversation with the empress atop the dais. They were waiting for one more—Raven’s sister, Whisper.

  Roan leaned toward Goggin, lowering his voice. “I’m sorry about your warriors.”

  The big man seemed surprised by his words. “It should’ve been me,” was all he said.

  With a start, Roan realized that the man had been drinking simpre under starlight while his men and women were being slaughtered. He shook his head. The world was an unpredictable place in the best of times. In the worst, it was chaos.

  Movement caught Roan’s attention. A slender wisp of a girl entered the council from the rear. She had sad brown eyes and look of determination about her. Her skin was a few shades lighter than Raven’s, her eyes narrower, more exotic, but the sisterly resemblance was obvious. Whisper Sandes, next in line to rule the empire. Instead of taking a seat beside her sister, she glided up to her and handed her a rolled scroll. The wax seal was red, but already broken.

  Roan saw the way Raven reacted when she saw it—the fear that widened her eyes. Even without reading it, the empress knew who this note was from and what message it might contain. He watched her as she read, saw the way her jaw locked and her teeth ground together.

  She rolled it back into a scroll, masked her feelings, and hid the message away at her side. Then she said, “We all know the situation. What are your recommendations?”

  Rider said, “The dragonia may have passed the testing, but they are not yet full grown. Roan Loren has warned us of the dangers that await us in Ferria. It would be wise to be patient. In less than a year, an attack will have a greater chance of success.”

  Goggin swore under his breath. “I lost thirty-six guanero, Ponjut included,” he said. “Their blood demands vengeance. I demand vengeance.”

  Shanolin spoke up. “I second the commander’s sentiments. He is not wrong. A direct attack on Calyp has always been met with a swift and decisive response. Anything less would be weakness. I would understand a delay if the dragonia were not ready. But they are, they’ve proven themselves.”

  “Just to be clear,” Raven said, “Goggin and Shanolin are recommending an attack on Ferria, correct?” Roan noticed how her words came out: monotone, devoid of emotion. Almost numb-sounding.

  Goggin said, “Aye!” Shanolin nodded.

  Rider said, “Nay.”

  A commotion at the front of the chamber drew Roan’s attention. A young woman carrying a scroll approached the throne. “A message for the empress,” she said.

  “From?” Raven asked.

  “A stream from our spies in the north.”

  “Please.” Raven held out her hand. The messeng
er handed her the note, bowed, and departed.

  All eyes watched the empress as she unfurled the scroll and read its contents. Her only reaction was a slight lifting of her eyebrows. “The northerners have some fight left in them after all,” she said. “They’ve defeated the easterners at Darrin. They’re saying Beorn Stonesledge was among the dead.”

  Goggin clapped his hands. “Some good news at last. My only regret is that it wasn’t I who killed the ironmarked.” He fired a look at Roan. “See, princeling? The easterners are not as invincible as you think.”

  Roan’s head was spinning. How could Grian have bungled the attack on Darrin so badly? After what Rhea had done to the northerners in the Bay of Bounty, they should’ve been easily finished off. And yet, Annise Gäric, his own cousin, had demonstrated her mettle, defeating one of the fatemarked.

  A swell of sadness washed over him; Beorn Stonesledge had only been kind to Roan.

  “What say ye?” Raven asked Roan. He was surprised to find all eyes clamped down on him.

  “I say this only supports what I said before. Fighting the east on your terms gives you a chance. A direct attack on Ferria is folly.”

  “Snakes and sand,” Goggin muttered. “The ironmarked is dead. Without him, the easterners are nothing.”

  “Whisper?” Raven asked, turning to her sister. “I will hear your opinion, too. Given the attacks in the Scarra and Beorn Stonesledge’s death, has your opinion changed?”

  The girl had been staring at her shoes. Not bored, or scared, but thoughtful. Roan found himself holding his breath to hear what she would say. He was fully prepared to voice his own opinion again, if necessary, not that it would make any difference.

  Now Whisper Sandes looked up, meeting her sister’s eyes. “Yes,” she said. “My position has changed. We attack the east immediately. Blood must be met with blood.”

  Roan’s breath left him and he gathered his argument as he stood.

  Ninety

  The Southern Empire, Calypso

  Raven Sandes

  Raven stared at Whisper, her sister’s gaze unwavering, unblinking, as steadfast as the Calypsian pyramids. No, she thought.

  For her sister had read the same note she had, the threat having been sent directly to Whisper this time, marked with the sickle and penned in blood.

  An army of dragons flies to war, wings as black as a raven’s.

  A bird with a broken wing falls from a nest, her whisper silenced forever.

  Whisper had received the death threat and yet not quivered in fear, not backed down. At long last, her peaceful nature had been overcome by the Sandes’ blood running through her veins.

  The war council had spoken, her own sister in favor of war. What was she to do? Perhaps the shiva can protect her in my absence. Perhaps we’ll return in victory and she will still be alive, our enemies captured in their attempts to kill her.

  Or perhaps by declaring war she was sentencing her own sister to death.

  She hadn’t noticed Roan standing until he spoke. “I ask for a day to reconsider, when emotions aren’t so high,” he said.

  “Sit down, westerner,” Goggin growled. “You have no place here.”

  “It’s fine,” Raven said. “I invited him. His words may be heard.”

  Roan, looking surprised, offered her a thin smile. Thank you, it seemed to say. “Will a day make such a difference?”

  “Every moment makes a difference in war,” Shanolin said.

  “But you are not in war,” Roan said. “You are contemplating war. The second you declare war everything changes. Plan for war, but wait a day, perhaps even a week, to consider your actions before you make them.”

  “So now a day is a week, princeling?” Goggin said. “Your clever tongue is as slippery as a snake. But you forget that Calypsians eat snakes for breakfast.”

  “I am only offering a suggestion, as all of you have. In the end, it is the empress’s decision.”

  Raven realized what he had done for her—the gift he had given her. Did he suspect what was on the note? Or was he simply doing what he’d done from the beginning—attempting to delay war.

  She realized his motives didn’t matter. She wouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth. “We prepare for war, but we shall not make a final decision for three days.”

  By then I may have caught Whisper’s would-be assassin.

  She ignored the way Goggin and Shanolin strode angrily from the room. She ignored Rider’s nod of agreement. She ignored the way Roan slumped into his chair. No, she only had eyes for her sister, who seemed as calm as a spring day.

  Raven’s eyes narrowed. Something didn’t make sense.

  And she would find out what.

  She watched Whisper as she swept across the courtyard, disappearing into her rooms. Something was amiss. Raven couldn’t say how she knew, only that growing up with Whisper had taught her to read her moods and whims. Something had changed in her; it wasn’t just her newfound confidence or the fire that seemed to burn in her eyes…

  Suspicion seared through her, like venom from a snake bite. I can’t jump to conclusions. I need evidence.

  She didn’t want to be right, but at the same time it would be a relief to no longer have her judgment clouded by fear.

  She strode after her, pushing aside the guanik bones as she entered her sister’s quarters.

  “Raven?” Whisper said, glancing over at her. She was seated at her dressing table, running a guanik-bone comb through her long chestnut hair. Hurriedly, she placed the comb on the table and wrapped a silk scarf around her shoulders, which were bare.

  Even under normal circumstances, it would’ve been an odd gesture among sisters.

  And, in this case, it had been a heartbeat too late, the truth laid bare in the angry red lines carved into Whisper’s arms.

  Raven had every reason to be angry, furious even, but instead she felt only a deep melancholy set in. “Oh, Whisper,” she said.

  Whisper’s gaze fell away, probing at the looking glass. Raven wondered what her sister saw when she looked at herself—a girl or a woman grown? “You left me no other choice,” Whisper said.

  “There is always a choice.”

  Her sister’s eyes met hers again, filled with angry tears. “Not for me. It was always mother’s way, or Fire’s way, or your way. There was never room for my way.”

  “I was willing to listen, I swear it.”

  Whisper shook her head, the motion causing the first tear to fall, meandering down her smooth cheek. “No. I made you listen.”

  “By cutting yourself? By using your own blood to write your own death threats?”

  “Yes. You never thought your sad, weak little sister could be so conniving. You never suspected me. You even thought I wouldn’t notice the shiva hanging around all the time, watching over me? You thought me that foolish? That naïve?”

  “I didn’t want you to worry.”

  “Always so protective of your pathetic little sister, but never of yourself.” Whisper spat the words, her scarf falling away to reveal her healing self-inflicted wounds.

  “It’s not like that,” Raven said.

  But Whisper wasn’t listening. “You should’ve heard the gossip. The empress has taken the shiva for her lover! Ha! As if you have time for love. As if your cold, black heart could possibly love anything or anyone but your wars, your revenge.”

  The words stung, but Raven was willing to take them all if it made her sister feel better. And there was some truth to them. Raven hadn’t loved anyone but her family members. She’d seen what love had done to her mother; she didn’t want it or need it.

  “Nothing to say, sister? Do my words ring true?”

  “Yes,” she breathed. “And the sickle?”

  “Something I read in a book. The stamp was easy enough to procure.”

  “Why?”

  The anger died in an instant. Tears streamed freely now, pouring down Whisper’s face, dripping from her chin. “I couldn’t lose you too.”
<
br />   The words were knives, each a reminder that she had failed Fire at the Southron Gates; in a way, she’d failed Whisper, too. More than anything, she wanted to go to Whisper, to hold her tight, as she had done when their mother died.

  But she couldn’t. Like Whisper had said, there was no room in her heart for love. Not now. Maybe not ever again.

  “My decision is made,” she said, turning away and striding from the room. She would convene the war council once more, and this time they would declare war on the east.

  Ninety-One

  The Southern Empire, Calypso

  Roan Loren

  The three days had evaporated under the hot Calypsian sun.

  Roan shouldn’t have been surprised when the empress reversed her decision, calling for a swift and immediate attack on Ferria, but he was. In all his dealings with her, he’d found the Sandes heir to a be a calculating, patient ruler.

  Not anymore. Someone had changed.

  Though he longed to return to Citadel to continue his research, he requested to travel with the army to Ferria. Perhaps he could use his lifemark to save lives, to do some good.

  “Which side will you fight for?” Raven asked.

  He could easily lie, pledge his nonexistent sword to the empire he’d spent most of his life in. But he wouldn’t, not to a woman who’d been nothing but honest with him. “Neither.”

  She nodded. “I suspected as much. But what I don’t understand is why a peacekeeper would attend a battlefield.”

  Roan grinned. “To keep the peace, of course.”

  Raven’s eyes narrowed. “As you wish, princeling. But know that I cannot protect you once the fighting begins.”

  “I understand.” But I can protect you.

  Ninety-Two

  The Southern Empire, Pirate’s Peril

  Grey Arris

  As the pirates led them across the docks and onto the stone floor of the cavern, their weapons poked and prodded Grey’s skin. His mates were getting similar treatment, all except for Kyla and Shae. Kyla, her eyes wide but defiant, was steered by the elbow. One of the pirates had tried to search her, but she’d said, “Ye touch me and I bite yer hand off.” Though the man had laughed, Grey had noticed the way he’d darted his hand back. She’d winked at Grey afterwards, and mouthed Stick to the plan. Though this version of Kyla scared him a little, she also made his heart beat faster.